


Old Bridge

by Aate



Category: El Marginal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: Meeting an old friend at the new prison. How lovely.
Relationships: Diosito/Pastor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Old Bridge

They regarded each other in silence.

The hands – the hands that had once been around his throat, strangling him – were for the moment holding a cigarette. Pastor – _Miguel_ , Diosito reminded himself, Miguel, not Pastor – took a draw of it, sucking in his cheeks, never once breaking eye-contact. The brown eyes, which had been filled with something feral _before, back in the ambulance_ , held now a considering look. They were guarded, cautious – and beautiful, as beautiful as only the last glimpse of life you catch before you suffocate can be, and Diosito almost felt like commenting on it, commenting on how different it was to look into them now, from above, when he wasn’t dying, when he wasn’t being murdered.

But he suspected Pastor – _Miguel_ – knew as much already. They both knew Diosito wasn’t now helpless or wounded or in the mercy of any cop climbing into his ambulance, and so Diosito didn’t say anything and instead reached out and took the cigarette from the hand holding onto it loosely, from the same hand that had strangled him three months ago.

It was his own fault anyway, for the most part, Diosito had gathered over the weeks it had taken for him to recover in the hospital from _everything_ , as well as from the holes Mario and James had put in him. It was his fault for being such a pussy – in his emotional anguish, he had underestimated the influence the social worker had had on Pastor – _Miguel_ – and he had pushed too hard. He had forced Miguel into a corner, so Miguel had reacted with desperation. It was really the social worker who had forced Miguel to strangle him, and Miguel must have been so scared and he must have thought Diosito _hated him_ now that Diosito knew the truth about him, and he couldn’t have known Diosito had killed two men for him to guard his secrets, and so, pushed into a corner, Miguel had reacted with animalistic desperation, the kind Diosito wasn’t too unfamiliar with either.

If only people learnt to talk about their problems, it’s what his psychologist had often implied.

Not that Diosito had told Mario – or anyone, for that matter – anything of Miguel’s true identity or what had passed between the two of them. Mario wouldn’t have understood it was mostly all Diosito’s fault and he would’ve insisted on inflicting some kind of terrible revenge on Miguel, and that would have been a terrible end to the friendship Diosito was determined to hold dear, even after everything.

In the hospital, he had thought he might be able to fix things with Miguel, given the chance. And right here, right now, he might have surprisingly gotten that chance.

Miguel didn’t resist when Diosito reached out. He let go off the cigarette easily, breathing out the smoke, as he regarded Diosito in a seemingly lazy manner. Conscious of his brother’s impatient presence by his side – as well as of Barney and James guarding their back from the five strangers behind Miguel – Diosito inhaled slowly, savoring the tarry taste of smoke, and studied Miguel in just as relaxed a manner as Miguel was studying him.

After a while, he handed the cigarette back. It was accepted and placed between the waiting lips. Miguel sucked in his cheeks as he inhaled, the brown eyes still fixed on Diosito and on no-one else, and something in Diosito _burnt_ to be the center of his attention. He didn’t know if he was being regarded because Miguel still wanted him dead, or if it could be that he wasn’t the only one who had missed their friendship, but either way, it made him a little restless and he couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or in a bad way, if he should jerk it out or not.

Too bad his psychologist hadn’t followed him here from San Onofre.

With a slight twitch of an eyebrow, Miguel held out the cigarette. Diosito gave him a crooked grin and leant in, secured his lips around the filter and took a draw. As he leant back, leaving the cigarette between Miguel’s fingers, smoke filled his nostrils and he blew it out towards the sky, almost as a sigh, or perhaps as a wish.

When their eyes met again, a corner of Miguel’s mouth tucked up as if in amusement, and – after taking a long draw himself, still staring at Diosito – he pointed at the tall shirtless man by his side with his thumb.

“This is Biter. And these are Alvarez, Professor, Juliano and Kangaroo.”

Each of the five men gave Diosito a nod as they were introduced, and Diosito eyed each in turn, equally curious and wary.

So, these were _the friends_. He wasn’t sure yet if there was cause for jealousy here.

Kangaroo – a chubby man with a black beard and a jolly face – winked at him when Diosito turned to study him, and if Mario’s grumbling had been any louder, it might have been called growling.

Miguel gestured at Diosito with the smoking cigarette before throwing the damn thing onto the ground where it was swiftly stepped on by the tall shirtless guy with tattoos on his shoulders and a pendant around his neck, the one Miguel had referred to as Biter.

“This is Diosito Borges,” Miguel said to his companions. Almost as an afterthought, he added, waving a lazy hand in the general direction of Mario and the two men behind Diosito, “Barney, James, and that’s-“

A weight landed onto Diosito’s shoulder and he was pulled back by Barney just as Mario stepped in front of him, his chubby belly taking so much room Miguel had to take a step back.

“I’m Mario Borges,” announced Mario, “Diosito’s brother.”

With Mario blocking him from Miguel, Diosito was now flanked by Barney and James, who wouldn’t let go of his wrist, even as Diosito gave him a look that spoke of murder.

 _”I’m on your side, idiot,”_ the Colombian hissed in his ear, _“so stop being a dick to me. And don’t let that_ gonorrhea _get to your head. He left us, he left_ you. _He doesn’t give a shit about you, Diosito, and that’s a cold hard fact.”_

It was a cold hard fact that applied to most people – with the exception of Mario (but then again, most rules didn’t apply to Mario). Indeed, most people didn't give a shit, about him or otherwise, so it was easy to just ignore it all and the inevitable feelings that came along with such facts.

While James had been hissing in his ear, Mario and Miguel had been regarding each other in tense silence, and Diosito did not like that. He had just gotten his friend back. Surely the two wouldn’t start fighting now? Surely Mario wouldn’t drive Miguel away? Miguel was practically family.

With worry gnawing at his gut, Diosito watched on.

“Marito-“ he began, but was cut off by his brother’s hand raising sharply, silencing him effectively like little else could.

There was now a look of outright boredom on Miguel’s face, but Mario clearly wasn’t buying it. It did look fake to Diosito, too – no-one could be bored when facing an angered Mario.

“What do you want with us, Peña, hm?” Mario’s voice was soft, but his tone was just this side of dangerous, like it usually was when he was just about to start shouting over something Diosito should or shouldn’t have done (usually the latter), or that one time when Mario had ordered parillas and the waiter had kept on insisting on bringing him chicken nuggets instead.

“If you want a dick in your ass, I can arrange that. If you want a lamb to fuck, _Sheppard_ , we can call in your mother – or your little sister, if you’d prefer. But you will stay _the fuck_ away from _my brother_ , you blood-erupting hemorrhoid. There will be no second chances, no second break-ups, is that clear, hm?”

There were splatters of spit on Miguel’s face where Mario’s angry words had reached him physically, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand.

“Go fuck your mother,” and now Miguel was angry too with his brows knitting and his gestures becoming sharper. “If you think your brother and I have been fucking, you’re wrong – and even if it was true, it would be none of your business, you over-sized walrus. If Diosito and I want to be friends, it’s none of your concern. He’s a big boy and can decide for himself. I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

Looking over a seething Mario’s shoulder at Diosito, Miguel offered a joyless smile and a mocking two-finger salute.

“Welcome to Old Bridge, Dios.”

With his companions, he then slowly turned and walked away, away from Diosito and away from Mario who was clenching and unclenching his fists, his neck growing redder by the moment. After a few meters, Miguel stopped, seemed to hesitate, and finally – eyes meeting Diosito’s for the one last time – added over his shoulder,

“I hope to see you around, my friend.”

“Go to hell!” snapped Mario.

“And burn,” added Barney, darkly.

“You piece of shit,” finished James for the three of them, but Diosito couldn’t help the happiness bubbling from deep within, although he was careful to school his features before Mario could turn around and see the small smile sent in Miguel’s way.

This time, Diosito wouldn’t ruin things. While it was a pity his psychologist hadn't followed him here, it also meant the social worker had been left behind in San Onofre by Miguel, so Diosito had been given a chance to be a better friend than ever. The very best friend. He wouldn’t give Miguel any reason to make him feel like he would have to murder Diosito again. No, sir, Diosito would be careful and considerate and he would explain everything he had done for their friendship and for Miguel, and even if he would get upset over something – like if Miguel decided to have another best friend, or something – they would _discuss_ it calmly and Diosito would explain why another best friend wasn't a good idea, he would be all composed and shit, and he wouldn’t be such a pussy about it anymore. He’d be a great friend, and Miguel would love him.

He wouldn’t be a pussy anymore, and wouldn’t that be quite a surprise to Mario, hehe.

Diosito hid his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm studying Spanish and I can tell you in Spanish that I'd like to buy a blue t-shirt and that I drink coffee with milk, but unfortunately my Spanish is nowhere near the level where I could write stories in Spanish, let alone in Argentine Spanish. Therefore I must apologize for writing this fic in English. I hope you still enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm very much looking forward to the season four, so this fic was my way of getting some of the anticipation off my body and into words.


End file.
